


All the World Loves a Clown

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon Era, Dancing, Episode: s01e05 Crossroads, M/M, Mourmelon-le-Grand, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Crossdressing, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: Thanksgiving in Mourmelon, George tries to figure out how to get Lip to dance with him.





	All the World Loves a Clown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LydiaJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaJ/gifts).



> Title from the Cole Porter song. This fic picks up on the WWII US army tradition of soldiers putting on drag reviews, described in _Coming Out Under Fire_.

"I think you need to pull it tight—"

George slapped Frank's hands away from the belt around his ribs. "It's fine, I'm telling you."

"You don't look fine," Frank muttered, but stepped back, giving George a professional once over. "Ah, well. Close enough for Army work," he decided.

"Why thank you," George said, but he wasn't too sure about that. He was wearing a regulation service uniform blouse, and belting it, blousing it and stuffing a few dinner rolls down the front didn't really get the effect he was going for, table cloth skirt or no. If George had thought of this two days ago, not on the night of, he could have whipped something up involving a banana headdress like the boot camp theatrical reviews of old. "It'll do," he said, trying to drum up confidence.

"Mmm," was all Frank said.

George straightened his skirt, squared his shoulders—then remembered and relaxed them—and strode across the painfully uncrowded dance floor to where Carwood Lipton was standing with the other wallflowers. A couple of the guys hooted at George, but he ignored them with regal disdain, chin high, not a twitch of a reaction showing. Lip wasn't looking yet, so George bit his lips to redden them, tipped his head down so he could bat up through his eyelashes, and caught the edge of his tablecloth for a curtsy. Joe Toye snorted, and Lip turned to see what Toye was looking at, which gave George just the perfect lead to get into a curtsy, if one made awkward by his skirt being too narrow.

Lip's jaw dropped, neatly shutting him up for long enough for George to say in a falsetto, "Gee, Mister, I've been saving a space on my card for you all night."

"Um," Lip said, and then, "oof," as Toye put a hand between Lip's shoulder blades and shoved him right at George.

Being the agile young lady that he was, George twisted aside and caught Lip's hands on the way by, which was exactly when Vest flipped the record to a kicking little foxtrot by the Andrews Sisters. The half dozen guys who'd managed to convince the nurses, WACs or local girls that they wanted to spend Thanksgiving in an army camp full of paratroopers swung them onto the floor.

Because Lip was a gentleman of the highest order—when he wasn't busting balls, anyway—his hands automatically took George's, all big and warm and strong. It was only when they started to turn around the floor that Lip blinked and seemed to realise what was happening. It might have been the continued cat calling that tipped him off.

"Luz, what the hell is this?" he demanded, but his feet didn't stop moving, even if colour was starting to rise in his cheeks.

George batted his eyelashes, and asked if that was the sort of question you put to a lady, then watched amusement war with annoyance on Lip's face. Amusement won, and Lip laughed and pulled George tighter. Victory.

George had long ago worked out that if a boy from a mill town in Rhode Island wanted to be as fruity as that banana headdress, the best way to go about it was to clown it up. That way, if your hand ended up on someone's ass or you dressed like a girl once and a while, then that was just good ol' George Luz, goofing off again. Now, he had Carwood Lipton's hand holding his while the other one was on the small of George's back, in front of God and Colonel Sink and everyone, and no one thought the least thing of it. George had the rest of the dance to imagine that they were together because Lip wanted to put his hands on George, that maybe after they'd find a dark corner and do something more. There were times when George loved the U.S. Army.

Lip spun Luz, and the tablecloth skirt wrapped around his legs, so that George fell tripped and fell forward into Lip's arms. That hadn't even been on purpose, but he'd take it. George pressed his hand to Lip's broad chest and closed his eyes, just for a second, trying not to think about what it would feel like if they were doing this for real.

"What the hell have you got down there, anyway?" Lip asked, patting George's chest in return.

"Sir!" George gasped, taking half a step back. "I'll thank you to take your hands off my rolls." Then he winked and added, "A girl might get hungry later."

Lip shook his head, and they finished the dance. Lip bowed when they were done, and George curtseyed again, all very proper. Then Frank, who'd struck out with a nurse in the meanwhile, wanted to dance with someone, and George was it.

"Some Thanksgiving, huh, Frank?" he said as he let George lead him around to a Mills Brothers swing tune.

"Hey, we ain't in fucking Holland getting rained on. The colonel even found us some turkeys."

George had his doubts about those being turkeys, but he'd take being in quarters for the holidays over getting shelled across the Rhine. "It ain't bad," he admitted.

Tab danced with him next, clearly missing the heck out of his girl back in Aldbourne, at least that's what George figured from the way Tab's hands wandered a little. George couldn't say he minded that either, though he wished Lip hadn't had to be so gentlemanly about the whole thing. A few more of the guys were dancing with each other by then, though none in make-shift dresses, and the catcalling had died down.

Vest only had so many records, and George more or less knew what order he was going to play them in, so he made sure that Tab dropped him off next to Lip at the end of the song.

"What, again?" Lip asked, but this time he took George's hands without a shove.

They hit the floor just in time for a sweet, slow Glenn Miller tune, something about lost love. Lip's face coloured, when he caught what the song was, but he couldn't very well dump George and walk away, not with so many guys watching. Things were normal as long as you pretended they were normal, or that's how George had always found the army worked.

Lip led George through the back and forth of the foxtrot, but George could tell by the tightness of his grip on George's hand and the twitch in his jaw that he knew the game, or at least suspected it.

"Don't do this to me again," Lip said in George's ear. "Not twice in a night."

Normally George would have laughed that off too, but there was something in the strain in Lip's voice that cut through the clown act. "Sorry, Lip," he muttered, feeling about two inches tall. "Just having fun."

Lip shook his head minutely, his clenched jaw not relaxing even as he made his death-grip loosen. "Fine," was all he said.

"Didn't think you'd take it like that," George said, but Lip didn't answer.

The good thing about playing records over having a real band in was that the songs didn't last more than four minutes tops, and this one wasn't that long. Lip was moving stiffly by the end of it, and didn't bow George out this time either.

It was only because George had a habit of giving a fine-looking fellow like Lipton a once over that he even noticed the slight bulge in the front of his uniform pants, almost entirely covered by the edge of his Class A jacket. Lip disappeared towards the latrines, but George knew what he'd seen.

"Well, I'll be—" George started to mutter, but found himself in the implacable hold of Bull Randleman, and couldn't follow up from there.

Lip didn't come back for the next three songs, and finally when George's feet were getting tired and he was starting to realise that he was going to end up dancing with all of first platoon if he didn't stop, he pleaded delicate sensibilities and started righting his uniform. He put his jacket on but didn't bother doing it up or retying his tie before he headed out of the mess hall to try find Easy's missing first sergeant.

Finding anything in the dark and rain of Camp Mourmelon wasn't exactly a cinch, but George spent enough time watching people to have worked out everyone's favourite haunts. Lip's was the back corner of the fence, where the ground was a little higher, and the mud a little thinner, and you could look down over the camp.

Just enough light made it through an improperly sealed blackout curtain for Luz to pick out Lip's silhouette. He had his arms crossed tight over his chest, and didn't seem to care that it was raining on him.

"What do you want, Luz?" Lip demanded when he saw who was coming.

"I didn't think you'd take it like _that_ ," Luz said, putting a hint of the falsetto on the last word.

Lip looked away. If Lip could have folded down like a parachute and packed himself into a bag, he would've done it right then. "I don't want to hear one of your cracks about it," Lip said.

George took a breath and wished a smoke would light in this downpour. "That's good, 'cause I don't think it's funny."

"What do you want?" Lip asked again, and George realised the danger he must think he was in. Even without an outright report, it's just take a little digging, a few insinuations, and George could ruin everything for Lip.

"Hey, easy, Serge," George said, holding his hands up. "You weren't the one in a skirt out there, and, uh, you weren't the only one getting wound up, neither."

"Nothing personal, huh?"

For a second, George couldn't make that one out, then he couldn't believe that Lip was implying what George thought he was. There was pretending things were the way you wanted them to be, and then there was actually believing it. George had never been one for wishful thinking. Then again, he had taken to jumping out of airplanes for an extra fifty bucks a month, so he said, "What I was feeling was pretty personal. How about you?"

Trouble with being a clown, was no one took you seriously. Lip stood for a long time with his arms folded, and George forgot about breathing for just as long. Then, slowly, Lip reached out and cupped the side of George's face. His hand was shaking, but he looked steady like a rifle sight, and said, "Yeah, guess it is for me too. Has been for a while."

George turned his face to that he could kiss the centre of Lip's palm, then because his mama hadn't raised a fool, he stepped back out of reach and said, "How about we find somewhere we can do something about that? Somewhere personal."

"You still got those rolls?" Lip asked, his whole body was softening, like the rain was melting away his bitterness and fear.

"Hungry, are you?" George asked. In the glimmer of illicit lamplight, their eyes met in understanding.


End file.
